ect of his worship belongs to a fallen
dynasty, or--what from of old has been his refuge--that the sacred fire
which burns within him is an "evidence of things not seen." What if I am
incapable of either supposition? There remains the dignity of a hopeless
cause--"_sed victa Catoni_." But how can there sound the hymn of praise?

"That is best for everyone, which the common Nature of all doth send unto
everyone, and then is it best, when she doth send it." The optimism of
Necessity, and perhaps, the highest wisdom man can attain unto. "Remember
that unto reasonable creatures only is it granted that they may willingly
and freely submit." No one could be more sensible than I of the
persuasiveness of this high theme. The words sing to me, and life is
illumined with soft glory, like that of the autumn sunset yonder.
"Consider how man's life is but for a very moment of time, and so depart
meek and contented: even as if a ripe olive falling should praise the
ground that bare her, and give thanks to the tree that begat her." So
would I fain think, when the moment comes. It is the mood of strenuous
endeavour, but also the mood of rest. Better than the calm of achieved
indifference (if that, indeed, is possible to man); better than the
ecstasy which contemns the travail of earth in contemplation of bliss to
come. But, by no effort attainable. An influence of the unknown powers;
a peace that falleth upon the soul like dew at evening.

XIV.

I have had one of my savage headaches. For a day and a night I was in
blind torment. Have at it, now, with the stoic remedy. Sickness of the
body is no evil. With a little resolution and considering it as a
natural issue of certain natural processes, pain may well be borne. One's
solace is, to remember that it cannot affect the soul, which partakes of
the eternal nature. This body is but as "the clothing, or the cottage,
of the mind." Let flesh be racked; I, the very I, will stand apart, lord
of myself.

Meanwhile, memory, reason, every faculty of my intellectual part, is
being whelmed in muddy oblivion. Is the soul something other than the
mind? If so, I have lost all consciousness of its existence. For me,
mind and soul are one, and, as I am too feelingly reminded, that element
of my being is _here_, where the brain throbs and anguishes. A little
more of such suffering, and I were myself no longer; the body
representing me would gesticulate and rave, but I shou